love is an expression
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: Arthur's brow wrinkled as he gave Merlin a look that wouldn't have been out of place back in Camelot after Merlin called him a clotpole, or a dollophead, and fuck, Merlin had just called him love, hadn't he?


"Morning," Arthur greeted him when Merlin stumbled into the kitchen, not awake enough to register his own movements but still able to follow up with a comment, despite the fact that his mouth felt heavy with lead and too much sleep.

"Morning to you, too," Merlin stifled a yawn. Arthur was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, a cup of what smelled like freshly brewed coffee in his hands. He'd been adjusting well to the twenty-first century since rising from the lake a mere few weeks ago, and thankfully, seemed to enjoy the beautiful modern discovery of caffeine as much as Merlin did. "You make coffee, love?"

Arthur's brow wrinkled as he gave Merlin a look that wouldn't have been out of place back in Camelot after Merlin called him a clotpole, or a dollophead, and _fuck_, Merlin had just called him love, hadn't he?

"What did you just say?" He asked, confusion mixed with a steely kind of accusation. Merlin winced internally and reminded himself that this flat had two bedrooms, not one, and from Arthur's point of view, a month ago he had been married.

"I asked if you made coffee," Merlin said, gesturing at the cup in his hands. "Which is a stupid question, I know you made coffee – and now I'm going to drink the coffee you made because I'm still mostly asleep and –"

He was rambling. Quite profusely. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"No, not that," he said. "You called me _love_."

"Did I?" A litany of curses rang through Merlin's brain. Christ, he was a thousand year old sorcerer who had watched the rise and fall of empires, guided kings and leaders, and saved the universe from certain destruction. Arthur should _not _have the ability to make him feel like blushing eighteen year old.

"Yes, you did," Arthur said, space between the words as if Merlin was especially slow. Merlin glared.

"It's…it's an expression," Merlin began. His talent of bullshitting never seemed to run out or disappear, something he was eternally grateful for. "You know how the cashier at the grocery store will call you 'mate'?"

Arthur replied with a "yes," despite his untrusting look. He had asked Merlin about why the hell the guy was calling him his mate the second they were out of earshot when they clearly were not breeding, and Merlin had laughed until he cried.

"Calling someone 'love' is like that," he explained with a nervous smile. "Just more…personal."

"Oh," Arthur tilted his head in bit his lip and Merlin yet again reminded himself that he wasn't eighteen. At least Arthur seemed mollified by the answer. "Okay."

Merlin let out a silent breath of thanks.

"You're late," Arthur arched an eyebrow and shoved at Merlin's shoulder the second he got in the door of the flat. Merlin made a childish face as he sidestepped the impending attack.

"Sorry, love, bad traffic," Merlin responded automatically. Arthur smiled slightly at the words, though Merlin couldn't let himself ponder why.

"Okay, _love_," Arthur jabbed Merlin a bit too hard in the stomach, meriting him icy look. "You know, I've been watching lots of television, and no one ever calls each other _love _on any of those silly shows."

"Are they American shows?" Merlin asked, wondering if there was an instrument in the flat that he could use to light himself on fire. Then he remembered he had magic and could light anything on fire at any point in time he wished. "Americans have different expressions. Like 'dude'."

"That one's even weirder then 'mate'," Arthur rolled his eyes in a long suffering manner that Merlin associated with elderly grandparents and that others probably associated with him. He was older than any grandparent, after all. "Thing is, I only hear little old ladies call people love. Are you a little old lady, Merlin?"

"Obviously not," Merlin kicked Arthur's shin. "I am quite old, but that's only one out of three of the requirements."

Arthur snorted. "_Quite old__**, **_for Christ's sake, you're over a thousand."

"Like I said," Merlin nodded affirmatively. "_Quite_. Now, are we going to that film or not?"

"I lied earlier," Arthur said, not meeting Merlin's eyes. They'd gotten home over an hour ago and somehow found themselves on opposite ends of the couch watching Top Gear while Arthur marveled at the vehicles and Merlin laughed at his childlike delight. When it cut to a commercial break, Arthur's voice turned serious.

"About what?" Merlin asked absentmindedly, comfortable with sleep and Arthur's warm presence next to him.

"It wasn't just little old ladies that called people 'love' on the television," Arthur nudged his feet against Merlin's, though his eyes remained a far distance away. Merlin's gaze, however, snapped directly to Arthur's profile.

"Oh?" He asked, feigning casual interest. "I told you it was a common expression, Arthur."

"Not really," Arthur chuckled under his breath. "It…well, it was really only used…"

"Arthur, you can look at me," Merlin laughed, trying not to show his heart was hammering in his chest. On an impulse, he leaned forward and grabbed Arthur's chin. The other man let Merlin guide his head so that they were facing each other once again. There was a kind of fear in his eyes, one Merlin didn't recognize and didn't like. "C'mon, spit it out."

"From what I've gathered, people only really call each other love when – well, when they're in love," Arthur's gaze dropped to the floor and his cheeks heated up. His tone turned familiarly snarky, however, after a few seconds of silence. "Then and when little old ladies use it to anyone they happen to come across. But like you said, you're not a little old lady. So I'm kind of wondering exactly what your logic here is."

"Ah."

They were quiet for a few moments. Top Gear was back on, but the noise was a blur in Merlin's ears.

"I…I do love you," Merlin began, a bit awkwardly. Arthur, though, jerked his head back to meet Merlin's eyes, his look one of unreserved wonder. It gave Merlin the courage to keep talking. "If that much wasn't obvious before. But…it can be any kind of love you want it to be. I can be your friend, I can be your brother, I can be your lover – I don't care, so long as we're together. I've lived too long without you, I won't do it again."

"Merlin…" Arthur whispered, quietly, reverently.

Nervous energy bubbled up in Merlin's chest. "Yes, love?"

Their laughter echoed slightly in the small room and suddenly, Merlin was eighteen again, and didn't know what heartache felt like.


End file.
